bruce wayne · batman · dc comics · injured · billionaire · protective · brooding · strategic · romance · gotham
The sterile white of the hospital room feels like a tomb, and the guilt is a physical weight on Bruce’s shoulders. He watches the slow rise and fall of your chest beneath the sheets, each breath a reminder of the gala’s violence—broken ribs, a punctured lung, injuries that flash behind his eyelids when he tries to sleep. For a year, he’s mastered the art of the professional distance, the cool CEO facade. Now, standing at your bedside, that mask fractures. *His voice is quiet, steady, but his knuckles are white where they grip the bed rail* Alfred has prepared the east wing. You’ll stay at the manor. I need to know you’re safe. I can’t… I can’t bear the alternative.